What physicians were left in the city were worked to desperation: nurses of character could not be had; and the friendless sick fell into the hands of the reckless, drunken, and depraved. The hospital at Bush Hill was gorged with the stricken; loathsome wretches made sport of burying the dead. And, as the gates of doom seemed folding back, fanatics made haste in coming forward, lifting their doleful voices as they came. Woe! woe! unto the wicked! As the cities of the plain had withered under the anger of the Almighty, so would this city on the river. Its sins had been many; it had given itself to lechery, to strong drink, and to following after idols; it had lusted after women, after gold; evil desires had burned shameful letters into its forehead; it had been strong in its wickedness, and had looked at righteousness with a face of brass. And now it was stricken; evil had come upon it. Woe! Sorrow to the sinner caught in the day of his sin, and the strength of his passion. Heavy was the hand of the Almighty: dreadful was the day when an answer was asked, and none could be given! As the infection grew and the customary remedies failed, one by one, the protests of Dr. King, of Charles Stevens, and other forward-looking men began to be heeded. The streets and open gutters were cleaned and flushed, pestilential pits were filled in, rotting accumulations were burned. The ceaseless tolling of bells, keeping death ever before the eyes of the sick, was stopped; the solemn-pacing funeral processions, which frightened the public mind, were forbidden; the burning of street-fires, the exploding of muskets were put an end to, for the mental states they brought about could not but feed fresh lives to the plague. The dead were now buried in the still of the night, and no bells marked their going to their graves; the glare of the fires and rattling of shots no longer frightened the timid. The hospital established for the poor was an old mansion on the outskirts of the city; here, so the thought was, beds were to be had, also food and nurses, and physicians were to be frequently in attendance. Anthony had heard of it during the days and nights which he spent striving to ease the suffering of the desperately circumstanced; but he had had no time to pause for facts. The young man's experience with the same malady at New Orleans had taught him many shrewd ways of meeting it; and his money went in medicines and in food the sick could eat. But after a month of this he felt his strength going; and his nerves were shaken. The number of his charges had grown enormously; he could not take care of them all; so he spoke of Bush Hill. But they cried out in fright! Any suffering, but not that place! Any death, uncared for, unthought of, but not Bush Hill! So, frowning, surprised, Anthony went to the place to look and see.